


Edward Hates That They Stare

by wanderlustlover



Category: Twilight - Meyer
Genre: Community: milliways_bar, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-06
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 23:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderlustlover/pseuds/wanderlustlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>May's Millirific Challenge was to Gender-Bender your character. What can I say? Edward Cullen was less enthoused than most with the idea, but not so much on his family's side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holy Fuc-- What?

Edward Cullen is a vampire.

And in his world this means many things.

 

But at this moment, it means one specific thing. The fact that Edward is blinking his eyes and the ceiling is coming into focus is that somehow, someway someone or something happened to make him unconscious.

A feat that should be utterly impossible.

 

But ranks lower in impossibility than suddenly realizing he has breasts.

~*~

 

The first concise thing he does after it happens is go home. (The first few things that were not concise and preplanned had taken the better part of half a day's panic in Milliways.)

He burst through the door to Alice's room, saying, "It's me."

Only to find her perched on the end of her bed, smiling far too widely for innocence of any kind, "I know."

Edward, small and thin and slight, lighted on the bed next to her, just as the door shot open again. "Alice, is everything--" And then Carlisle was left gaping at a new unknown vampire in his house, glancing at her. His gaze taking in only the position of her hands and the tilt of her head and the color of her hair before choking out, "Edward?"

Edward wasn't sure whether he even liked the idea Carlisle paid that much attention to the smallest details of him. Apparently there was something in the face he made, too. Furrowing his eyebrows and firming his lips, both thinner and shapely delicately like bows. That caused "How -- wh-- it is you."

Carlisle had only gotten so far as thinking he wanted to make sure Edward was alright before, Alice blurted out against a vision of a Doctor Session. "No. I want to play dress up with him--" She stuttered, uncertainly making face toward the necessity of pronouns for this event. "--her, first."

"I'm still here." Edward frowned, daintily, at both of them. "And I'm not going anywhere with either of you. I want to know when this will end."

As Carlisle's bent with telepathy only took a few days.

Alice went from looking like he'd stolen her best birthday present to unpleasantly trying then her face went blank. He watched the vision swirl and shift across the future. Unsteady pieces. But then there were clips. Her fingers, the clip of his hair against his cheeks.

Edward swore, soft as a sweet whisper, as Alice answered for Carlisle's sake now.

"It will, but not for a while."


	2. They Don't Know Her

Edward hates that they all stare.

It isn't as though he doesn't understand.

They've had fifty years to look at each other. When hunting and wrestling, when living each of their everyday lives in all the clothes of five to nine different decades. They could trace the space of each other's shape and styles without the blink of eye. That was simply what happened in a seven person microcosm.

They know everything about him.

The way he lays across a couch, and stands, perfectly still, staring at the dawn.

 

But they don't know her.

They almost catch him in the way her wrists turn, or her chin lifts, or the way the words of her speech flow. But he isn't there when they stare harder. Or he is, but there's more than just him, too.

Her cheek bones are still high, like round gleaming pearls, but her voice is in a higher resister.

The way she laughs is like small bells hung in he trees when a breeze. Far more like Alice's now, even though her temperament ranks more with Rosalie, except it still err in ruefulness and dark ironic tones more than anyone else there.

 

The discomfort they once had in his inconsolable loneliness is over shadowed now.  
They knew the resigned, scholarly second-oldest, yet youngest, among them well.  
Like the melody you never quite forgot once you had learned it.

But they don't know her.

Her waifish figure of perfect porcelain, and her long curtain of copper hair.  
The tinniest ankles and lithe grace that she wears Alice's skirts with eventually.  
She is like them, but she stands outside of them, and that makes them feel even worse.  
It's Edward, and it isn't, so they stand at his side, waiting, and they do what they can.

Watching her, weighing her, judging her, learning her. Always, always with their eyes.

And the thought she can no more miss than she could have before this happened.


	3. Loose and Lousy Ringlets

Edward's hair was always this-side-of-too-long.

It meant that he'd spent an eternity with habits to that point.

He'd grown used to brushing it back. He actually liked the fact it brushed the edges of his cheeks when he looked down, and the nape of his neck all the time. And, well, after the first two weeks of annoyances, he'd even learned how to read piano music when it didn't want to stray pressed back. When he was distressed or annoyed he ran his fingers through it.

 

Now it was still this-side-of-too-long, except he was a girl.

Which meant it was this long flowing cascade of molten copper down his back.  
It tickled the small of his back and brushed against his arms when walked anywhere.

Long enough that he accidentally leaned his elbow on it when he was reading his books, and would go to move, dragging his head up and yanking his hair from its caught place. Long enough that if he rolled the windows down in the car, he actually had to reach out and hold it, if he didn't want it getting stuck in the window when it rolled up.

Long enough that when he played, if it wasn't tied back, it spilled over his shoulders, and tickled his arms as he was moving his new, but still long and thin, finger across the keys. Long enough to soaks his shirts when it's drying. Long enough that his fingers caught trying to run through it, and it snarled easily with its cascading waves and ending curl.


	4. Mirror, Mirror, On The Wall

The way the piano stopped was discordant and sudden. Edward scoffing, this tiny flick of haughty, indignant sound that is nothing like the sound he keeps thinking will come out when he wants it to.

Everyone in the room looked up, but Edward was only looking at his sister.

"You can have it. I don't care. I don't want it."

Rosalie's face stayed the perfect marble white, but he knew she would have turned fire red if she could. The inside of her had gone scarlet with anger instantly. It was not usually his choice to call anyone out on anything. Especially. Not on this subject, no matter when it came up or why. She hissed at him as she exited the room.

Emmett took off after her, after tossing him a frown, "Babe-"

While Esme just gave him a sympathetically unpleased, yet compassionately curious expression. Edward sighed. Small and like a tiny breeze, wafting from this slight frame of his. "She wants to know who's prettiest now."

Even though the following sound was the dismantling of his car; he didn't care.


End file.
